The Interrogation of Emmy Altava
by SamCyberCat
Summary: In order to find out more about the professor, Clive had decided to interrogate Emmy. He hadn't counted on her being more than he could handle. Clive/Emmy.


Notes – Written for a kinkmeme prompt that requested the pairing. Set quite a while before the third game, containing major spoilers for PL3 and takes liberties about what happens to Emmy after the second trilogy, since we don't know a lot about that yet. I'm also not very comfortable with writing mature work, so I'm sorry that this is pretty vague in that area.

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><p>Research might have ended up being Clive's obsession if revenge hadn't already taken a hold of that spot.<p>

It wasn't enough that he wanted to create a whole city, a whole world, just for the chance to fool Hershel Layton, he had to know everything he could about the man to prevent himself from being caught out before the right time. He knew that Layton was smart; everyone knew that, so Clive had to be smarter.

Working as a reporter helped with a lot of that. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the professor to do something that warranted appearing in the newspapers and Clive liked to make sure he was the first person on any case related to him, always making sure never to be seen by the professor himself, lest he blow his cover.

But sometimes even Clive had to admit that his excuses were a bit flimsy. It was impossible for one man to be doing something worth reporting on everyday, so he made up for the quiet time by researching people who knew Layton, claiming it would help him gain a greater understanding when it came to reporting about him later.

Much of the work he'd done looking into Layton's history had drawn him to the name Emmy Altava.

He knew that she was his assistant and that she had worked with him for some time, but after a certain point she seemed to disappear, leaving Layton and Luke alone.

Although it had been hard to find out information about her life after she left, Clive had done it. He'd tracked her down to where she was living and had found a day in his schedule to go to see her. The construction of his London would have to wait for one day; he just knew that she'd have plenty of information upon the professor that he couldn't find anywhere else and it made him tingle just thinking about it.

She had arranged to meet him without any fuss and as she showed him through to the living room of her current residence she didn't seem guarded at all, which surprised him.

Clive took to a seat, absentmindedly brushing off his trousers. For this occasion he was dressed differently than he usually would, though still presentable since his ego wouldn't allow otherwise. He had refrained from dressing in a manner that could be connected to 'Clive' or the future Luke image so she wouldn't notice anything unusual and spoil the surprise before it was time. He just looked like a smart young reporter, here to talk with her.

"I appreciate that you're taking the time to speak with me, Miss Altava," he started.

"Just call me Emmy, that sort of formality seems far too proper," replied Emmy, cheerfully taking a seat.

"All right then… Emmy. If you'd be so kind there are a few things I wanted to ask you about your former positi-"

"I don't often do this, you know," Emmy cut in, "There is a very good reason why I make myself hard to contact and refuse to talk to the press about the professor."

"Oh." It was a pretty disarming statement for him to counter. "Well, why did you choose to speak with me of all people about him?"

She leaned forward, making him nervous; "You sounded very genuine about your interest in him, like you seem to understand about him. I trust what you said about purely wanting this talk for personal research."

He hadn't been lying about it being personal, but luckily for him she was way off about it being just for curiosity's sake.

"Then I'm glad we can trust each other," he calmly answered, "Because there's so much I'd like to hear about the professor and your time with him."

"And there's a lot I could tell you," returned Emmy, smiling at the fond memories of him, "He was… such a polite man, albeit in a bumbling way. You know he was never very good at looking after his office, mind always on puzzles as it was. Thank goodness he still has that second assistant of his to keep things tidy otherwise he might have drowned under the fossils he collects by now."

She went on like this for a while, reeling off casual information about Layton's lifestyle that contained nothing interesting. He already knew all of this. Perhaps the trip was a waste after all. His attention was beginning to drift, he could feel it…

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

Her sudden change in tone jolted him back to attention.

"I beg your pardon?" he stammered.

"Sorry, but your expression was quite transparent," Emmy assured him, "You have no interest in what sort of man the professor is, you're just here to try to dig up dirt on him."

"That's a lie!" Clive called, getting onto his feet, "I have every interest in the professor but you're only telling me the same sort of things that everyone knows about him. And believe me I've talked to a lot of people about him!"

"Why?" She was on her feet now too and he noted that she was taller than him, enough to make him feel nervous. "Why have you asked so many people about him?"

He frowned. There was no way he could answer that and avoid looking suspicious. But then staying silent would look just as bad.

"I can't say…" he settled on.

"Then I have nothing more to tell you," she said firmly.

"Please…!" he asked, taking a step forward, "I need to know, just trust me that it's for the right reasons…"

She put a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, looking up at her.

"If you want dirt on the professor then there's only one thing I could tell you," said Emmy, almost dangerously quiet.

"What?" Clive asked, transfixed by her stare.

"If I believe that you are as innocent as you claim you are then I'll tell you," she promised.

Clive felt doubt creep in.

"Then what can I do to make you believe me?" he pressed.

A smooth hand was stroked against his cheek.

"I have ways of testing men."

He might have died from nerves right there. Here he was in a strange lady's house and suddenly she was making advances on him?

Despite that he found himself nodding, unable to say no to her, unable to remove his gaze from her, completely pulled in by her. How could any man say no?

Emmy led him away from the living room and he followed her without resistance, quietly allowing her to show him to her room and all the time trying to ignore the question of how this had ended up happening, because she didn't leave any room for questions. Her intentions were very clear.

It would have been a lie to say this was his first time, as Clive was quite familiar with women, but for the way Emmy treated him it might as well have been. She was in charge; she commanded what he did and when he did it. If it were possible he half suspected he might have even finished the session on her demand.

When they did end Clive collapsed back on the bed, panting hard. She simply lay next to him, head propped up on her arms and smiling as if this whole affair had done nothing to tire her. It probably hadn't.

"You were pretty interesting," she informed.

"Thanks…" he muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, don't take it so hard, it takes a lot more of a man than you to get the best of me," Emmy assured him, still smiling.

"I'm not sure on what level I could receive that as a compliment," answered Clive, sulkily, "Do you trust me now?"

"Hm," she chimed, "I'd like to think so. You're a very genuine man and very much like him."

"Like wh- …you've not done this with the professor!" he gaped.

She was giggling now.

"He needed to be led as well, he was so flustered and polite around women," she confirmed, "But you both seem to want to please even if you are biting off more than you can deal with. I think I can trust you."

Well, if being equally as bad in bed as Layton got her to trust him then he wasn't complaining.

"So can you tell me? The dirt you have on the professor?" he pressed, leaning forward.

"Of course."

She moved closer, her lips not even an inch away from his ear.

"The one thing I can tell you is that there is no dirt on the professor. He's too good, too kind for you reporters to find a scandal on him. So if you truly want to know about him stop looking for anything incriminating."

Clive felt his heart sink. Because he knew she was right and in himself, in all the research he had done, he'd known that it was true for some time.

"Chin up though, I'm sure there are other people whose careers you can put a black mark on," she said, pulling back from the ear.

"There are more than you could imagine," he assured her, "But I don't care about any of it, I'm just interested in him."

"Maybe you already know all that you need too," replied Emmy, shrugging, "Since you seemed to have heard all of the nice things I knew about him before."

"Perhaps," he agreed.

"It was very nice to meet you," Emmy said, leaning forward again. He wished she would make up her mind about whether she wanted to be near him or not.

"And it was very nice to tal-"

She cut him off again, pressing her lips against his and drawing him into a kiss. He had no intention of pulling away and she had no intention of letting him dominate her in this regard either. After lengthy moments they parted, Clive attempting to be subtle in his gasp for breath and willing himself not to become too excited again.

"You're very genuine with that too," she confirmed, kissing him once more, on the cheek this time, before climbing out of the bed and leaving him alone in her own room.

Today had not been a waste and this time he meant that for more than just research.

He pulled his clothes back on, cleaning up the best he could before heading downstairs. From somewhere she'd managed to obtain more clothes and looked presentable again, as if nothing had happened. In turn he bid farewell as if they hadn't done anything out of the ordinary and left in a similar fashion as he would have done with anyone he'd been interrogating under the guise of a reporter.

Clive had not told her his name. He knew that she probably knew that too. But somehow it didn't seem to matter. If he never saw her again that was okay because she was embedded in his mind now. There were no other women like Emmy. She must have been a suited assistant to a man as unique as Layton.

He let himself into the clock shop.

She was right – it was time to stop researching, time to move on with the next phase of his plan.


End file.
